The President Kisses Babies, and Other White House Briefs
by purplecitrusella
Summary: Oneshot escapades of President Connie Maheswaran and her First Man, Crystal Gem and public speaker, Steven Universe. [Original summary: He knows it's not a literal headline—it's a quip that got tired more than 15 months ago, maybe even closer to 15 years ago. It's about him. (Or: Connie's and Steven's relationship is a matter of public discussion due to Connie's high-profile job.)]
1. The President Kisses Babies

**Thought this up after reading a post on Tumblr. The Tumblr form was just a crack headcanon, but I thought this up after finishing my other Steven Universe story and couldn't leave it by the wayside. I wrote a lot of this late at night, but I've also meticulously checked it for errors, so here's hoping there aren't any.**

 **Full disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about the White House Correspondents' Association or their yearly dinner. All I know about it is the stuff I looked up and watched during the research I put into this story.**

* * *

Steven operates on his wife's schedule, as least as far as waking up and going to sleep is concerned.

Up at 6:30 sharp, every day.

After that, their daily dockets diverge, and Steven has a bit of downtime for at least a few hours, until his work picks up to a busy pace that may not rival Connie's but at least mirrors it.

It's early April, and that means what he decides to do next may be the most boneheaded move he makes.

He decides to watch the news.

Now, it's in Connie's job description to follow the news; she's the President. She usually reads it down in her office or across the table from him at the start of the day alongside a national security briefing, often scarfing down a bagel and sipping some coffee or OJ.

But what Connie reads is, well, actual news. And what he's watching onscreen right now…

It just isn't.

He's watching Rox News, and they're running an interview with the leader of the America Undergriund news site. The headline reads "President Maheswaran: Kissing Babies?" He knows it's not a literal headline—it's a quip that got tired more than 15 months ago, maybe even closer to 15 _years_ ago.

It's about him.

He can't deny it. He may not look eight anymore, but despite having definitely been alive about 38 years at this point, he still looks about 12.

This problem cropped up when Connie first ran for the Delmarva House of Representatives. He looked around ten then, and they thought it best to keep their relationship out of the public eye for the time for the sake of keeping the race simple and successful.

But someone had seen, and the news sites and blogospheres took it running. _A 23-year-old, "dating" a ten-year-old?,_ the opinion columns and editorials had read. And so they'd explained themselves and managed to move past it, and Connie had won. The people in their state had rallied behind them and stood up against the outsiders who brought the concern to the forefront again when Connie had run for U.S. Senate some years later.

He'd only looked a little younger than he does now… maybe about 11? He isn't sure; the Senate race was a blur, and the "that can't be his actual age" argument had been so minor because of all the great support from their home state.

But then came the Presidential candidacy. Connie, at just over the minimum, was the youngest candidate elected to a major party ever, and that didn't help Steven's case.

It was a problem. Again.

People all over were yelling about how the president "supports child marriage" and was "lying about her history with that young boy". Connie had to explain, again, that she was actually younger than her husband by about a year and a quarter. When not enough people bought that, they held to their argument. It got so bad they had to release Steven's birth record (which in and of itself was almost a fight with the Delmarva records office…).

And eventually, from all but the most adamant sources, it seemed to taper off.

If Steven had been a ruder person, they probably would've gotten an earful. He was (still is) an accomplished speaker in his own right—a skill he picked up in the midst of the kerfluffle back during the State House race—and anyone who hangs around him for any length of time tends to leave with a broad impression of his views. He's not some little kid for people to stomp all over, and honestly, all these experiences have given him a strong opinion in regards to the current treatment of children in their society…

He was hoping this wouldn't happen this year. It happened—from the same sources and everything—around the time of the correspondents' dinner season last year, too, and in the end, he'd decided not to attend the event at all. He was too self-conscious, and he faked an illness to get out of it.

He sighs and refocuses on the television. The AU's leader is ranting that not only is the "birth-record-gate" a cover-up, but he believes the First Spouse to be even younger than most of the AU board's estimates, perhaps even seven or five. Steven rolls his eyes as the man goes on to explain he's also pretty sure people within the government have fed Steven lines for his speeches because no one can be that short and young-looking and that eloquent.

That earns the First Man's brow arching in anger, not just because he considers himself proud of his own public speaking ability, but because he's met people in the same boat as him who are just as proud of their own talents: sometimes short, sometimes young-looking. Sometimes actual children, sometimes little people, sometimes old people with childlike faces.

He supposes that's a good thing that came out of their ascent to the White House; they've met so many people who consider Steven an amazing person, a role model, someone who's more than a disputed birthdate and a cute face. Which is part of why he's so angry at the person on the screen.

To… to just discount someone's ability based on their looks! He's not new to this idea—this isn't the first time this sort of comment's been used toward him, and Connie's had it lobbed at her too many times to count (a thought that makes his heart hurt whenever it comes to mind).

Still, no matter how used to it he is, he exhales tensely through clenched teeth hearing it once more. The sentiment is just so… bigoted! He supposes thought processes like that are the root of all prejudice and considers penciling time into his schedule to write a speech about that very topic. He reaches for the remote to turn off the bumbling broadcast and maybe get some breakfast in him before he starts getting down to business.

He gets his hands on it a little too late, his wife walking in for a short early-morning break.

Has it been an hour already? They've really been rambling about a false story for an hour?

Connie sighs behind him. "I thought we agreed we weren't watching the news this month?" She continues as Steven switches off the TV. "And Rox News?" she scoffs, "They're… they're just… I don't know what they are, but it's definitely not reputable if they're having America Undergriund on! They're a bona fide conspiracy site!"

Steven laughs nervously. "Guess we should be glad Ronaldo stopped wanting to work there, eh?" His nervous laugh turns a little genuine as he remembers the scandal that got the Fryman to post an update to his blog about how the site had lost all respect with him.

He looks back toward his wife—she looks young for her age, but certainly not 12 like him; she looked 12 when she met him.

When his eyes meet her face, Connie's not laughing.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I passed over it on the way to the morning talk shows."

"…Steven, we both know full well that's not what happened; you've never been particularly good at lying." She pauses, sitting next to him on the sofa. "Plus, you've always been more of a game show guy."

That earns a giggle out of both of them.

"Yeah, or soaps!"

She snickers. "You _do_ love schmaltz…"

He grins, and it grows awkwardly quiet.

"…It's not getting to you again, is it? Are we going to have a repeat of what happened at last year's correspondents' dinner?"

"No… no… I wanna go… but those dumb guys from the news channel will be there!"

"Of course, it's a correspondents' dinner, and they _are_ correspondents!" she giggles.

"Yeah, I know, but something in me feels… I dunno, like I wanna… beat 'em at their own game?"

She gives a chuckle. "Well, if you come up with something you wanna do, let me know, and I'll see if I'm smelling what you're stepping in!"

"Ew…"

She smiles and kisses him lightly before hearing a knock at the door. "I've gotta get back to work. I'll see you next time they decide I'm allowed to have a break." She rolls her eyes and stands up to greet the person at the door.

* * *

"Steven, no!"

"But why not?"

"It's… I'm gonna be honest with you, it's the worst idea I've ever heard come out of your mouth!"

"Hey, no, it isn't! Bringing Amethyst to the Easter Egg Roll was a way worse idea!"

She sighs. "Can't argue with you there… but… still. I can't let you shapeshift into a baby!"

"But come on, I'll be the biggest joke of the night!"

"Steven, I respect your sense of humor, I do. The correspondents' dinner is supposed to be fun. But it also lasts several hours, and I know shapeshifting that long won't be fun for _you_."

Hmm… he hasn't considered that. What's with him and forgetting about his own needs and feelings?

He places his finger to his chin in thought, and an idea comes to him. "So… uh… would you go for a similar idea if it… _didn't_ … involve shapeshifting..?"

An advisor pokes his head into the room. "Madame President?"

"I swear, they always pick the best times to interrupt us," Connie speaks sarcastically under her breath before shouting to the man who has infiltrated their abode, "Be right there, Colin!"

She walks toward the door.

"Yo, Connie, you never answered my question!"

She turns around in the doorway, a sly look on her face. "I can't say I _wouldn't_ be opposed… but you might want to flesh it out." She winks and follows Colin toward a female advisor down the hall.

Steven's face breaks into a thoughtful grin. He knows exactly where he's going with this.

* * *

Steven's not there when Connie's schedule lets up for the day. Kate says he left on business.

The entire White House administration knows that really means gem business.

Connie is sipping a cup of tea when he arrives back. She asks him how it went, and he launches into an explanation of Garnet beating down a corruption, Amethyst hogtying it as Pearl goes in for the poof and he himself bubbles it. He'd expected to do more, but they'd also thought the monster was bigger.

Connie grins wistfully as he goes on, painting a vivid picture with his words. She hasn't done any swordfighting to speak of since she's entered the presidency. And they haven't even thought of forming Stevonnie—what would the GOP say? (And for that matter, what would the Democrats?)

She misses it.

She sets down her cup. "Glad you had a good time! Did you get to think any more about the… proposition?" She smirks at him.

Steven's face goes blank. "Wha—?" His brow furrows as he thinks deeply for a couple moments before remembering. "Oh! Yeah! I've got a whole plan! And I ran it by the gems, too!"

"And?"

"They think shapeshifting for an entire night is a bad idea, too—no matter how many 'baby war' jokes Amethyst thinks I could make… Oh, but they loved my replacement idea. Well, Garnet and Amethyst loved it. Pearl thought it might be undiplomatic, but I don't think she understood how the correspondents' dinner worked… All of 'em kinda wanna witness it live, though. Even Lapis and Peridot!"

"…So what are you doing?"

He places his hands out in front of him as if steeling his wife for the best news ever. "I'm dressing… in a sailor suit!" He moves his hands to extend to his sides and does a little "jazz hands" gesture.

"That's it?"

"And acting like I'm five!"

Connie places her hand to her chin, nodding. "We might need to plan a little more than that, but I like it! Oh, and I'll probably have to incorporate it into my speech…"

"That's the idea! Maybe not too much; you must have other things to joke about."

"Oh, I do…" If Connie could pull out a physical list… it would be exhaustive. The number of things about all those correspondents and even herself she could roast… it's a little beautiful. In a weird sort of way.

She must be in a trance thinking of all that fodder for her speech, because Steven nudges her elbow.

"…Do you really have that many ideas?" His face wears a mixed look of mock terror and a little real terror.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" She puts an arm around him.

"Isn't that why we got married?"

"We got married because we love each other, not because we're mind readers!" she chuckles.

"Really? I can think of a few times I've read your mind!"

"Oh, really? When?" She cocks an eyebrow.

He moves in until he's nose to nose with her. "In your dreams," he whispers, his eyes narrowed and a smirk on his face.

Connie bursts out laughing as Steven laughs and runs away.

"Hey! We have to start planning this 'kid' thing sometime if we wanna pull it off well!"

"We can do it after I read your mind again!" he yells from the other room, his voice itself making his smile heard.

Connie yells after him and runs into the other room with a smile.

Being President is all about constant action, but sometimes it's nice when things _can_ wait until later…

* * *

They've spent the last couple weeks preparing and…

He's not sure he's ready.

He tugs at the suddenly tight-feeling collar of his sailor shirt and wonders if this was a bad idea. Will they get the joke?

Connie said he could back out at any time. One of the advisors, Danny, even has a tux sitting in a room not far off the ballroom, so if he needs to change quickly, he can…

…No. They've put too much planning into this. Backing out now would be like Connie resigning from the presidency, or he himself deciding not to be a Crystal Gem!

Okay, maybe not _quite_ so serious… But still! There was so much planning! It'd be a waste to throw it out now!

Who cares what those correspondents think? Rox News, America Undergriund, the Empire Times, GBN… what do their opinions matter? He's gonna go out there and be the best 38-year-old-who-looks-12-but-is-pretending-to-be-five he can! He has to, for Connie's reputation!

…He has to, for himself.

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose.

"Mister First Gentleman," a voice rings out behind him, "are you okay?"

"Fine, Lauren," he says to the advisor, who passes him to make herself seen. "Where's Connie?"

"She'll be here momentarily, sir," she says, adjusting her glasses. "Nice suit, by the way," she remarks with a smile.

He snickers. "Thanks. We had it made special."

She nods, trying to stifle her own laughter as she stands by the door.

Connie runs up the hall to stand beside her husband. Once she gets to his side, she drops the hem of her dress, a sparkling blue evening gown that almost exactly matches the blue of his suit.

"…You ready?"

He's nervous, but he nods. "Are you?"

"I'm not the one going to the correspondents' dinner for the first time and wearing a sailor suit while I do it."

"It'll go over well, right?"

Connie's unsure. Almost all good-natured jokes go over well at an event like this, but there is a possibility it'll fall flat… but she can't tell Steven that.

"…I think you'll have fun."

He holds her hand, and the advisor opens the door. An announcer can be heard inside saying, "Please welcome the President of the United States, Connie Maheswaran, and the First Man, Steven Universe!"

The two walk out onto the stage, Steven taking his place in the line and Connie going to greet all the other people onstage. He glances at the gems seated at a table near the front, dressed in formal wear—well, except for Peridot, who's added nothing to her look but a bowtie, and Lapis, who's changed nothing about her outfit.

He doesn't keep his eyes on them for long as cameras flash to take photos of him and his wife, and bemused mumbles plus a few quiet laughs emerge from the audience.

He smiles. He has a good feeling about tonight.

* * *

Connie's speech is received well, and the jokes about him—aided by him acting the part when they come up—are a riot. She laughs as the host and the correspondents speaking onstage make jabs at her and even ad lib a few comments toward Steven's look for the night.

Steven cuts the act to award journalism scholarships to some college students, but he otherwise keeps it up until the last speech of the whole event. As it's all over, he stands up with Connie to mingle with the people onstage.

"See? That wasn't so bad at all!" she speaks over the din of the crowded room.

"Yeah, I can't believe I was so nervous! There was nothing to be worried about!" he chortles, pulling her closer to him playfully for a picture.

…Until there's a flash of bright light and a little confusion from the First Couple for several moments…

"Yay-uh, Ste-man!" Amethyst yells—to the other gems' chagrin—as the rest of the room becomes virtually silent.

The President and First Spouse aren't there anymore, and an entirely different flash of light erupts as every camera in the room goes off to capture the sight before them.

Someone a little taller than the President stands up, their fluffy hair in a slightly looser version of the President's style. They adjust their clothing, a sparkly, sailor-suit-inspired evening gown, and look down at themself.

"Oops."

* * *

Steven wakes up in the morning at 6:30 sharp, as prescribed by his wife's schedule. It's a Sunday, so the schedule is looser, Connie reading her news and briefs more lazily at the couch with a donut in her hand, trying to stretch the time she can spend in her pajamas as far as possible.

Steven flops onto the couch and flips on the TV, his face breaking into a wide grin.

Rox News is running another interview with the AU's leader about how his theories are "confirmed", but the headlines on other channels are much more interesting…

"White House Correspondents' Dinner A Success Once Again!"

"'First Boy' Bit Brings Laughs, Pokes Fun At Common Quip"

"Mysterious Giant Woman Appears in Flash of Light at Presidential Dinner: Who Is _That?_ "

* * *

 **I really should learn to draw well enough that I could draw Stevonnie in that fused evening gown, because boy, do I have a concept, but boy do I** _ **not**_ **have the skills or materials to bring it to fruition. XD**

… **I kind of want to know if I can write more in this sort of AU, but I don't know if any good ideas will come, so for now, this is it. XP**


	2. First Person

**Now a series of oneshots! :D**

 **I have not written this sort of POV for a VERY long time… bear with me, because the reason I never write it is that I suck at it. XP**

 **Further, this could be read as a continuation of chapter 1 but wasn't initially intended that way. Go for whatever you feel in regards to your interpretation.**

* * *

My bare feet slap methodically against the hardwood floor. _Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk._

I'm pacing. Thinking.

I flump onto the couch and sigh. Most times, it's so much easier to think when I'm Stevonnie.

Now's not one of those times.

I look to the door, wondering what I'll find on the other side. They haven't tried to come talk to Steven or Connie at all today. That makes enough sense… considering yesterday… but… they must have lots to do, _especially_ considering yesterday! Steven and Connie are the First Man and the President for crying out loud!

I pause.

Connie's… the President of the United States.

Steven… he's the First Gentleman.

So… what am I?

I pick up the newspaper and study its headline, and I suppose I'm not the only one wondering the same thing…

* * *

I feel myself taking form, feel the weird, brilliant feeling of coming into existence.

I'm here.

But I'm not supposed to be! The room before me affirms that truth.

Democrats, Republicans, correspondents, aides, and more stand with their mouths agape and

 _I am not supposed to be here. Not now._

I take a deep breath, more like a gasp than any actual intake of air because

they were going to go public with me,

but they needed to find the right time, and

now

is

 _not_

the

time—

We fall apart. The cameras swarm. Steven and Connie are ushered from the room.

* * *

The administration asks for me to form again. The First Couple, understanding the gravity of the situation, oblige.

I'm here again, and I fight to stay stable as the high-ranking officials before me share shocked, hushed whispers. I feel Connie's worry, Steven's concern, their shared thoughts of what this means for the country, for them, for me.

My own uncertainty.

They're just thoughts, Stevonnie. We can watch them go by, see them fly away, it'll all be fine…

Breathe.

The White House Chief of Staff comes before me, my form towering at least a foot above him. He's suggesting Steven go get his family and bring them to a meeting.

I have to unfuse once more.

Great.

* * *

Before several hours ago, it had been years since I'd fused.

It'd been so long I wasn't sure who I was anymore.

But now I'm back, and I'm fusing on the regular at the command of those staff members, but I still don't feel like me.

I'm not being _treated_ like me. I'm just a weird combination in their eyes, just my two parts together to them, to the point that to them I'm not Stevonnie, I'm "the Connie-Steven hybrid creature".

I want to scream, to tell them I'm here, I'm me… I'm _more_.

But that's unbecoming of a Cabinet meeting, so I sit with my arms crossed and listen to the dialogue. The Cabinet members are asking how a topic like this can be broached to the public and the gems are sharing what they know, what they think will work. Greg is visibly uncomfortable in a meeting of this level of importance but shares his own experience with fusion from the human observer perspective. He shoots those worried-parent sort of glimpses at me—like this is a school principal's office and I'm being punished for something he knows I didn't do—and it's obvious he doesn't want to be here.

Neither do I, really. Most of the feeling comes from Steven; Cabinet meetings aren't really where he rolls. He's much more comfortable being a public speaker and White House host, not here.

…Now they're asking what I should be called when they have to address this, what I am…

I can't take it anymore. I have a voice, too, and I'm going to use it.

I stand, and I tell them.

I'm me.

* * *

I'm me.

But what does that mean? How do I put myself into a word, especially one Steven, Connie… or even I could use to explain myself to a whole _country_?

I'm a fusion. But most of the country (all of the country?) wouldn't understand what that means.

Garnet would call me an experience, a conversation, something greater than either Steven or Connie. But that'd be hard to quantify, too…

The White House calls me a hybrid. Technically accurate, but it feels demeaning.

And then there's Steven and Connie's parents…

Greg, Doug, and Priyanka have come to treat me like some weird form of grandchild. And I guess in a way, I kind of am?

The idea feels nice, anyhow. More loving than most of the other options, and perhaps an easier idea to present to humans.

…Maybe I'm the First… Daughter? Son? Kid?

No… I've never really thought about myself in this sort of context, but none of those sound right. I'm not a daughter or son, and I don't feel like a kid.

I fidget with my hands as I try to find a term like those… but more… me.

And I know.

My feet pitter-patter across the floor as I head to the room's entrance and swing the door open. An advisor is sitting there, as if she were waiting for me to show up.

"The Cabinet is looking to reconvene, and they want to know if you've figured out how to broach a press conference for the major networks. Have you figured out a good description to explain what you are?"

I nod.

I'm the First Person.

* * *

 **I feel like this was very badly written, and perhaps it might get rewritten in the future. I feel like I haven't mastered Stevonnie's voice yet. I probably would have held back on this chapter and tried to make it better, but for some reason I really wanted to unleash it on the world today. XP *shrug***

 **(If I rewrite this, it may not be in first person; I partially picked that POV because it felt like a nice play on the title. XD)**


	3. Life and Death and…

**So I wrote this chapter before I found out the Presidential residence area is served food by dumbwaiter. Therefore, I have decided to headcanon that dumbwaiters don't exist in the SU universe for no other reason than that I didn't want to rewrite the part of the chapter involving food arriving in the room. XD**

 **Also, I feel this particular chapter may warrant a T rating, but I was hesitant to mark the entire story as such because I don't plan on doing anything this big that often.**

* * *

A certain husband of a certain world leader was curled up on the couch under several blankets, eating a bowl of soup and watching his favorite comfort show, _Crying Breakfast Friends_.

As he ate, he had to admit, the availability of food and beverage in the White House was great; he could have practically any food delivered—right to the room if he wanted!

Which was exactly what he did, since at present he was much too sick to head down to the kitchen himself. He'd managed to get some warm, soothing lunch foods and had asked for a couple snack foods as well, in case he suddenly got an appetite for something other than a spoonful of broth, a warm cup of tea, and a plate of falling asleep on the couch.

He thanked the maid who had been gracious enough to bring him tea _and_ something to keep it warm with, but as the maid opened the door to leave, an aide stepped in around him—not even waiting for the man to exit or move—her face wearing an urgent, terse, almost afraid look. The First Man sighed and muted the TV, taking a sip of the tea to soothe his throat as he waited for whatever she was about to say.

"Mister First Gentleman, sir?"

"Yes, Onika?" He sat the teacup down and waited expectantly for news he was suddenly getting the feeling was more ominous than he'd thought.

"There's been an assassination attempt on the President."

Steven's world stopped. His blood ran cold as he raked his hand through his hair and across his scalp. He needed to speak, to ask if she was okay, if she had been hurt… or worse…

But the only thing that escaped from his lips was silence.

* * *

Connie breathed a sigh of relief, finally at her destination, ready to give a speech and help out in a particularly conflicted area; there had been an internal town conflict that had spurred peaceful protests and civil counterdemonstrations, but those protests and demonstrations had in some areas devolved into yelling, fighting, and even violence. The town's story had gone nationwide, so they were being swarmed with even more people, some bent on trying to bring back peace, others… not.

Her statements from the capitol had been no help, and so she'd felt the need to get in the field, try to fix things at the source. It wasn't normally her prerogative to do that; other people were typically the sort of public relations fixers the White House would send when the government felt the need, but this felt like something she had to do herself.

Steven had wanted to come along with her, to help with the peacemaking, too, but he'd woken up with a gnarly case of the flu yesterday and she'd had to convince him to stay home, because he was in far too ill of a condition to help here.

Garnet had, out of nowhere, volunteered to come along, and Connie accepted the gem guest. As President, she was used to being a stranger in a strange place often, but it was nice when she could help it to have a familiar face, a friend, to stand beside her.

Or a foot or two above her, as the case was.

As they exited the car, Garnet fiddled with her visor, her face in deep thought. She wondered if Garnet was looking through her future vision, maybe for solutions to the fight perhaps? She wouldn't ask. It seemed rude. Garnet had lent her the vision before, a kiss to the forehead to show her possible outcomes of her decisions, but Garnet had always volunteered to those times. This Garnet was somehow simultaneously distracted and yet determinedly focused, and it was not the time to ask for something like that.

Especially not as they came across a rather unruly crowd of people bent on fighting against each other, stopping for no one in their way, not even the President. The Secret Service diverted them down a different path to where Connie would speak, and Connie pulled at her collar; she'd thought she was prepared for this, but was she _sweating_? Perhaps she was more nervous than she'd thought. She'd had her fair share of conflicts in her time in the presidency, but this felt like one of the worse ones.

They passed at least two more similar chunks of people before she arrived at the location of her press conference, a temporary stage erected in front of the city capitol building. City officials and police officers had taken their place on stage, and standing in front of it was a very divided crowd of people.

Connie wished Steven had been able to come; her head ached with the thoughts of all she'd have to do before she'd have to return to the White House, and she didn't know if she could do it alone, or even with Garnet.

Speaking of, her thoughtful expression had turned to concern, the large gem making an audible "Hmm…"

"Garnet? Is there something… up?"

"The future… it's very… uncertain."

"Isn't it always?" She gave a lighthearted scoff, but the taller being before her kept her stoic expression.

She made her way behind the stage and spoke with some officers and the mayor. The group was happy to be working with her for the week, and they hoped to achieve an understanding between the two groups and foster an atmosphere of caring and listening within the community.

A noble cause, and Connie was all for it.

She discussed ideas for getting it there, and the group seemed willing to consider them further. Of course, most of the hairy details would be hammered out at meetings after the initial press conference, and then she'd work with the community for a few days to get the agreed-upon ideas in place, but this willingness was a better start than she could have ever expected.

She smiled as the group took the stage. The police officers opened the conference, with some reminders about crowd behavior, not that anyone was really willing to follow the rules set forth. The mayor came next, expressing her feelings on the conflict and transitioning into Connie's speech with a personal appeal that the crowd choose unity. Connie rubbed a temple and made a mental note to tweak part of her speech based on the mayor's remarks.

She cleared her throat as she moved closer to the podium. She'd scarcely opened her mouth to breathe in before speaking her first sentence when a shout from Garnet cut the air like a razor blade.

"Connie, duck!"

Garnet, in the span of a few hundredths of a second, made a decision to move toward Connie rather than in the direction of the perpetrator of what would happen next. She launched herself in front of the President right as the _bam_ of a bullet leaving a gun pierced the confused din.

The projectile hit the fusion, slowing as it made its way into her, enough so that it did not hit the woman behind her. Garnet only just looked back toward her before poofing, retreating to her gems to regenerate. Part of the once-unruly crowd stopped their bickering—at least temporarily—to gaze in confused awe; that didn't mean it was any quieter, though, considering the other part of the crowd had turned to panicked screaming at the event that had just unfolded.

Connie barely had time to grab Garnet's two halves before she was ushered off the stage by the Secret Service. A shiver ran up her spine, and she knew once they'd arrived to a safe place that they'd have a _lot_ to talk about.

She was tired.

Though she had to admit, at least she wasn't dead.

* * *

Once Steven gained the composure to speak again, he managed to squeak out a "Is she—?" before coughing several times; drying your throat out by hanging your mouth open in shock did that to you.

"She's not dead, or even hurt. But we thought you should know… Garnet took the hit instead."

His forehead creased in thought as he sipped some tea once more. He was worried for Garnet, but he was elated for Connie and knew Garnet would be okay as long as she hadn't taken a hit to the gem.

"…It didn't hit either of her hands, did it?"

"No, sir."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "…Okay. Have the gems call me when Ruby and Sapphire reform."

The aide nodded and noted something in her planner.

"By the way, Madame President is returning to the White House early."

"…Right. Because of what happened…"

"Actually, no. She was willing to stay even after all that." The aide shrugged.

"Really? …Then why's she coming back? Did the Secret Service make her?"

"No," the aide smirked. "You just got her sick."

* * *

 **Well… I wasn't planning on including this sort of plot before this afternoon, but here's hoping I did it justice…**


	4. Love and Birth and…

**Weird note: All these chapters are technically standalone, but I feel an especially strong need to actually note that for this chapter for some reason? Probably because I feel like this is a weird departure in some ways from the rest of the chapters. 0_o (It's a little less fluffy, maybe?** ***shrug* And a plot I wasn't figuring on writing. My brain spat out some unexpected plots this week…)**

 **A different chapter was supposed to be chapter 4, but for some reason I wanted it to be 5, so you got this instead.**

* * *

Connie scoffed.

The idea was laughable, so much so that she giggled too-nervously about it.

She was in her second year of her first presidential term, and she had far too much to accomplish.

It would complicate things.

It would screw up her workflow.

It'd be a distraction.

No. Not happening.

Connie Maheswaran, President of the United States, was not having a baby.

* * *

"Why not?"

"Steven, I'm a busy person. In case you've forgotten, I'm the President!"

"So? I think you could handle both! You're so amazing at everything!"

She smiled. "Thanks for the compliment. …But still! I can't! It would be so much stress on my body, and the presidency is stressful enough! And there's no precedent for it! No female president has done that, and the last first lady who did it was…" she thought a moment, "Kennedy? Yeah, Kennedy!"

"…But… um… you could be the—"

"No. Besides, most of the time we…" she gestured wildly, "you know…" her breath hitched as she tried to approach this delicately, then decided to just cut to the chase, "…Stevonnie!"

"But there are other w— last time, nothing… some of the time, we…" He trailed off, knowing he had no rebuttal to her completely rational arguments.

Her voice was small, a little sad. "…No."

Steven was silent for some moments. "…I guess you're right. I just… let my excitement over the idea get the best of me…"

Connie put her arm around him. "I mean, you're not wrong. I want to… but not now. It'd be… too much, you know?"

Steven's lips pursed. "Maybe… we should just watch TV?"

Connie grinned. "I hear the mid-season pre-finale of _Under the Knife_ is on."

* * *

Connie let her eyes droop in the Cabinet meeting as the Secretary of the Treasury droned on about…

about…

Well, she didn't even know what subject the person was on.

Her Vice President shot her some concerned glares and glances, and she might have returned them with some too-cranky looks of her own.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt _off_ today, probably because she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before; someone had made a late-night phone call, which was dealt with quickly, but she had been up for hours prior, thinking.

Considering her reputation for getting a good night's sleep wherever possible, she doubted people would believe that explanation, so she didn't even have a good excuse.

She'd thought about the conversation she'd had with Steven. She was so… conflicted.

She knew there were other ways, knew the whole fusing thing didn't always happen, that it didn't happen… what was it, three weeks ago?

And she knew there was no time for anything like that, for the pain and stress and suffering it would put her body through, for the stress her job would bring upon all of it as well.

 _But she wanted it._

It was the one thing she'd really wanted to do that she'd put off in favor of politics. She often described the nation as her child, a place she wanted to help guide to its full potential… but she wanted to help an actual kid reach their potential… _her_ kid.

She adjusted her uncomfortable blazer—she'd been rushing that morning and must have taken a particularly ill-fitting one that hadn't been tailored yet—and tried to refocus on the… well, now it was the Secretary of the Interior speaking. Normally, she'd be enthralled—the woman could hold the attention of a room—but today, she just couldn't. She found herself drifting off again.

What would happen if it _did_ happen?

Well, the conservatives would have a field day. No matter what events transpired.

Shoot, potentially everyone involved in politics could look on it unfavorably.

The stress to her body from pregnancy could put her in medical danger. The stress to her body from presidency could put a baby in medical danger.

A baby would distract her from work. Work would distract her from the baby.

She'd be a target… but she's already a target.

A cute baby would be in the White House. Said baby would be a target for those with nefarious plans. Even though gem stuff had been a threat since before she even met him, she still wasn't even always comfortable with the fact that her job could mean _Steven_ in harm's way; how would she feel about a—?

Her stomach lurched, those thoughts too real to think about this intimately. She gripped the table, trying to suppress the sudden sick feeling that came with the idea and let the thought pass. When she stopped looking at her hands, she noticed the entire room was looking at her with concern.

"Connie…" her vice president spoke, "are you—"

"—Let's take a few hours' recess. I think we could all use a little break." Connie exhaled. Maybe she'd be able to shake these odd feelings after some lunch. And a nap.

Or at least she hoped she would…

* * *

Connie Maheswaran, President of the United States, was _not_ having a baby.

No. Not happening.

It'd be a distraction.

It would screw up her workflow.

It would complicate things.

She was in her second year of her first presidential term, and she had far too much to accomplish.

The idea was laughable, so much so that she giggled too-nervously about it.

Connie sighed.

* * *

 **I have ideas past the idea for chapter 5, but they're so incomplete. DX I wonder how long they'll need to fester… (It's possible this fic may hiatus for a time after chapter 5 just because I'm in the process of moving. …Though maybe that'll be a good thing and the ideas I have will develop into the most awesome ideas ever! :D)**


	5. Peace and…

**This chapter's title is short, but I didn't want it to sound too ominous before its time** **. Which is odd, because even the shortened title has nothing to do with this particular chapter's subject matter. XD  
**

* * *

"Are you sure this isn't too much, Connie?" Steven lifted a large, heavy box into the trunk.

"No, my school's pretty big, so this should be enough to hang on the walls. Plus, I'm handing them out near the front door before school starts!"

Steven plopped another box into the car. "I can't believe you're gonna be student body president!"

"Only if I win! There are other people going for the position, too!"

"Yeah, but I bet none of 'em will get as many votes as you! Ooh, who's gonna be your vice president?" He gasped and whispered, stars in his eyes, "Could it be me?"

"Steven, you don't go to my school! Not to mention people would probably think you're, like… hmm… nine?"

"Hey, I thought the beard made me look older!" He stroked the stubbly hair covering the lower half of his face.

Connie placed a finger to her chin. "Hmm… maybe. But I still don't think most people would realize you're 19!" she giggled.

He opened his mouth to shoot off a rebuttal but realized he didn't have one. "You're right, maybe not. Who would it be, then, if the fantastic Steven Universe isn't eligible for the job?" he chuckled.

"Well, I don't actually get to choose because it's whoever gets the second most amount of votes, but _if_ I win, then Jeff's probably the favorite for the vice presidential slot. And if Jeff wins, then I'd probably be the vice president. Most of the rest of the student government group is running for other positions like treasurer and grade representatives and stuff like that, so we're really the top two contenders for president. Not the only two, but the top two." She nodded and sat the last box in the trunk, closing it.

"So if Jeff's your vice president… I guess I'm first boy, then?" He stared slyly at her from the corner of his eye.

"You'd be my first man." She bent down to kiss him on the cheek as he stifled a laugh. She straightened up again, and they walked out of her garage to get in the car.

"I can't believe you have time to be president! You do, like, everything! You're trying to get that internship at County Hall, you still practice violin, and we do the sword stuff with Pearl… oh! And you're starting that volunteer position down at the hospital tomorrow, aren't you?" He seated himself in the driver seat, with Connie settling down in the passenger side.

"Yeah, but I'm sure I can handle it all! Plus, it looks great on college applications."

"…Right… college! I wonder if I should go to college?"

"Aren't you with the gems all the time?"

He scratched his chin as he considered that and decided he'd talk to his dad about whether an online college was a good idea later. He started the ignition, and they drove off.

* * *

Connie rushed into the hospital, shooting up a flight of stairs and down the hall to the volunteer office.

"You're late," the male manager said, his beady eyes giving her a judgmental once-over.

"Sorry," she cleared her throat, "um, school." Hanging up the posters had taken longer than she thought.

"Well, it's not a good impression for your first day, and I don't expect it to happen again. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir." The air was still and awkward. "So, um… where will I be volunteering?"

He didn't answer, instead leading her down the hallway to a quaint room housing about eight people, most senior citizens, one a college student, and another a 13-year-old, young and in the youth volunteer program like herself.

"Transport service," he said, his noise bringing the small group's attention to the simultaneously embarrassed and underwhelmed highschooler at the door.

"…Oh."

* * *

Connie quickly learned transport service was no joke. The college kid and 13-year-old girl had taken her on a tour, which was followed by the college kid giving her a lowdown on specimen transport—the younger volunteer couldn't do that yet, since that was a procedure restricted to those 16 and up. The training after that consisted of reading a short manual, and then she was just… let loose to take on what the stout manager of the room thought she could handle.

Apparently, what she could handle was finding 14 wheelchairs and delivering them to the GI surgery department. She and the younger girl were to set off looking in every corner of the hospital for chairs, wipe them down with sanitizing cloths, and drop them off in the right place. Once they were finished, they could get the wing's receptionist to sign the request receipt, and then they'd return to the room.

Once they were out of earshot of the manager, the girl turned to Connie, playing with the flower clip in her hair as she stated matter-of-factly, "We only need to find about six before we go back. GI always asks for more than they need." She then skipped ahead of Connie, seemingly knowing exactly where she was going. Connie frowned; it didn't seem right to only half-fulfill the request! No, she'd go looking for as many chairs as she could muster! She followed slowly behind the girl.

It turned out the kid was apparently rather knowledgeable of all the best wheelchair spots. She helped Connie clean them and showed her the best way to manage to push a full three at a time. Once they'd found eight, the girl got the receipt signed and went back to the room without Connie, but Connie kept looking for chairs.

…She only managed to find another four before giving up.

She headed back to the room, winded only just from her first task! How would she handle the next three hours? She plopped into a seat next to the college student, who was reading a textbook. Connie noted she should probably do that next time, but she left her book bag in the car. Suddenly, the student hissed at her.

"Whenever you take your break, let me know; I'll let you know all the fun stuff you can do in fifteen minutes' time here," they said.

She considered telling them that she knew her way around the hospital, since her mom worked there and all, but she wasn't sure that was what they meant…

* * *

Connie walked through the front door, her legs aching from the stress of her volunteering. She glanced at her phone and noted Steven had texted her, excited and wanting to hang out.

She'd reply later. She still had to write campaign platforms, practice violin, schedule a good time to call County Hall and follow up on her internship, take a warm bubble bath to soothe her aching muscles—after all, a little "me" time was always im—

Her homework, she'd almost forgotten that she'd need to do her homework.

…If she'd known being Supergirl was this hard, hectic, hassling… would she still have decided to do it?

* * *

 **This might get a follow-up chapter; I just kind of stopped here because I felt it was going to get too long for its own good if I wrote the other part of the story along with the part that did get written.**

 **This may be the last chapter I write before I move. The process is ramping up significantly now. XP I have ideas, just no time to write them!**


	6. The Debates: Of Mice and Mudslinging

**Oh boy! Another flashback chapter, but this time to something a bit more current (both in terms of the story's plotline as well as its topicality in relation to current events…).**

 **I was planning to release the final part of the chapter naming I've been (against good judgement) applying to chapter after chapter next, but then I got worried I might not be able to do a debate chapter before Election Day comes if I tried to finish that different chapter (which I'm kind of blocked on) first. Once the POTUS is finally decided, I'm worried I won't find debates relevant enough to easily write about anymore.**

 **And I really wanted to write a debate chapter. XD**

 **This chapter was inspired by a headcanon someone shared on the same post that inspired the first chapter. Unfortunately, I can't find it now…**

* * *

"Senator Maheswaran, your campaign has been notable for its lack of attack ads and other media meant to delegitimize your opponent. In fact, pundits, analysts, and citizens from all parties have expressed surprise at not only the complete absence of mudslinging originating from your campaign itself but also at your open denouncement of unaffiliated groups producing these kinds of things. To read something from your Chipper account: 'Saw another ad attacking my opponent on my behalf today. Let's move AWAY from attacks and back to politics. Please.'"

Connie smiled as the cheep was read off, mostly because she was remembering how Steven then tried to hijack her account to post lyrics from that musical he'd gotten into lately about the treasury guy. She stifled the memory to pay attention to the rest of the moderator's statement.

"Some commentators believe this could be an underhanded ploy to passive-aggressively damage your opponent. While others have not taken their thoughts that far, they say they have enough experience with the usual tone of candidates' public statements that they worry there could be an ulterior motive. Still others think your decision in this sphere, while not malicious in their eyes, is not the best stance you could take. The question for you this: What do you hope to accomplish by not running these sorts of ads? Do you think others should follow suit?"

"That's a great question, Miss Einiger. I just think exactly what was stated in the cheep you read—I personally believe it's best to run a campaign based on what you can do for your country, not how hard you can slam the person you're up against into the ground. People from my home state of Delmarva will not be surprised with the lack of mudslinging from my campaign. We didn't do it when I ran for the state's House, and we didn't do it when I ran for U.S. Senate. A strong campaign shouldn't need to. We focus on letting people know how we feel about the issues and what we would do to support the people's wishes if elected to office.

"Further, I do hope others could follow suit, and I think that's something I'd certainly like to accomplish by so strongly opposing attack ads when they're produced on my behalf. Kids don't need to see so deeply cutthroat statements thrown around with such wild abandon that they become white noise. To be quite honest, adults don't really need to see that either. It'd be great if we as a country could become better able to focus on the issues, not the insults, and I believe the key to that starts with ourselves. Thank you."

The moderator didn't so much as look at her opponent before he began to respond to her remarks.

"Lorraine, it's obvious that her intent is not to create a nicer race as she just claimed, or else she'd be going after ads that attack her as well, hmm? I think it's clear that what she actually wishes to do is make me look bad. If the only bad ads out are attacking her, then what's her real motive, hmm?" The man gripped the podium and glanced over to her for a fraction of a second before turning his attention to the camera trained on him as the moderator asked if Connie had a rebuttal (she did, but she opted to act as if she didn't). The moderator brought forth another question.

"Mr. Butte, as a leading early proponent of the birth-record-gate movement…"

* * *

 **Oh, who am I kidding? This may as well be a really long rant about how much I dislike mudslinging. XP It's getting to the point where almost whole commercial breaks are these kinds of ads. I just can't take it anymore. :-/**

 **When I first had the idea for a debate chapter, I was thinking it'd be longer, but as I was writing I thought it was good to keep it short. (Maybe I can return to this plot every so often and have it focus on a different question? *shrug*) I plan for the other idea I have to perhaps end up with a longer chapter. :P**


	7. Cold Discomfort

**This actually isn't the chapter I wanted to write here; it's the worse of two "spinoff" situation ideas from a previous chapter, but I felt the better idea forcing its way into getting made, and I wanted to get this out of the way first. DX**

* * *

 _She Does_

It's an accident when it happens.

There's no room for accidents in a presidency, but yet, it happens.

Of course, they're excited; it's something they've wanted for a long time. But it's scary.

What happens if the worst—no—they don't think of that. They don't have the time _or_ energy when their thoughts have to be everywhere else already. How will they tell? How will they deal?

"I Could Never Be Ready" doesn't even begin to cover it.

They're not as ready as they thought for the outcry from the people in the other party.

They're not ready for some of the criticism they get from within their own party.

And they're certainly not ready to be responsible for a human life on such a public, turbulent platform.

Nevertheless, it's happened and that's that.

Things grow and things change. It's wonderful. In theory.

But—

* * *

 _She Doesn't_

She's wanted to. Oh, how she's wanted to.

But two terms have passed and they… well…

It's just not in the cards. Not anymore.

It's fine. They get over it.

She gets over it. She's getting older now and that's all that needs to be said.

At the end of the presidency, after an extended vacation, they head home. Steven continues his career, as well as his gem business, and Connie is glad to get back into that. It's a welcome dot of excitement in her new span of free time.

Overall, they move on with their lives: they help people, speak publicly, everything a kind president would do after they're done with that platform.

She and Steven are on a philanthropic trip, helping build a school in another country, when someone mentions offhand how many orphan and indigent children this school will help.

Connie stops painting the siding and smiles to herself, looking to Steven, who's helping some kids in the distance pick teams for a game of soccer. And she knows that this is something she wants to continue.

It's not what she was planning to do after the presidency.

It's so much better.

* * *

 _She Can't_

They wait until her second term to try. By then, the campaigning is all out of the way, they know the ropes of being President and First Spouse, and they have no one to win over.

One month passes. Two.

Six.

Most of a year.

They become confused, then worried, and they finally head to the doctor.

And there they learn.

It doesn't matter how long they wait or try. They could have done it four years ago, or ten, and the outcome would not have been different.

…It was never going to happen.

Something about this is more heartbreaking than even the worst national tragedy they've endured in their time in the White House. It's a personal sort of grief, the kind they want to share with their families, to have more shoulders to lean on and cry into, but also the kind they only want to keep between each other.

They head to Camp David for the weekend, but the weekend is just about all they'll have. She'll have to get back to her duties as President, and honestly, she's amazed they're even giving the couple this long to just… be alone.

Steven is staring out a window, his back to her. She can't see his face, can't tell what he's thinking—part of her wants to know, but part just doesn't care.

She wants to curl up forever, to resign or something. But she knows she can't. In the most gut-wrenching version of being married to one's job, the nation is her baby now, and she's gonna have to suck it up and be a proper "parent" to it.

She's the President, and presidents don't have time to mope.

* * *

 **This felt more emotionally disconnected (writing-wise) than I was planning on. DX But then, a lot of this chapter was a get-it-out-of-the-way, which also is a good excuse for why it's so short. XP**

 **I feel bad about thrusting a pretty angsty/downer chapter on you before continuing what's hopefully a not-much-longer hiatus. But I have some fluffy plans in the pipeline, so… yeah? (The other idea that spun off the same chapter as this isn't fluffy (in a different way than this one), but I'm not going to post it next, even if I write it next, specifically because that's more angst in a row than I'd like. :P Plus I want time to make that one REALLY good.)**

 **Well, see you once I have a job!**


	8. …War on the Planet Earth

holy slightly-misleading chapter names batman

This wasn't what I was originally planning for this chapter but I like what it is. It's short but sweet and a nice read.

* * *

Travel was always fun, right? The sights, the sounds, the culture, the—

Oh, who was she kidding? It was extremely stressful to be a visiting dignitary, especially in her present situation. She was supposed to be in talks with leaders of several countries early tomorrow in order to try to avoid potential unrest in the region, and she didn't feel the slightest bit prepared.

She and her entourage had arrived late that night and taken their rest in a hotel. A few important members of her Cabinet were rooming together down the hall. Her vice president Jeff, who'd brought his husband, was in the room next door.

…And Steven lay behind her in what appeared to be a very peaceful slumber.

From her place under the covers, she placed her eyes on a scuff mark partway up the wall, running over her planned talking points for the meetings tomorrow. For the two-hundred-and-seventy-third time.

She sighed. Why couldn't she just sleep? She knew that was what she really needed but it just wouldn't come.

Biting her lip, she—

A rhythmic poke rapped against her back, ripping her from her worries. She turned over and found herself greeted with the familiar pointed hand of a certain First Man in her face. It was a tell; he seemed as nervous as she was.

…He was doing finger guns in his sleep again.

"Steven. Steven," she whispered.

"Mmph, chille tid," he mumbled, still completely out.

She snorted; she'd have to tell the Prime Minister of Norway about _that_ later. After composing herself once more, she shook her husband lightly and whispered his name again.

He moaned for a moment as he was pulled from his sleep. "Guh—Connie?" He rubbed the tired from his eyes. "It's..." he looked at the clock, "4 am. Is everything okay? Oh my gosh, there's not a national emergency, is there?" He looked ready to summon his shield from his supine position.

She chuckled lightly and shook her head as she turned on the light and sat up in bed, prompting him to do the same. For a moment, all was silent as they acclimated to the light, but Connie spoke up when the silence threatened to stretch into an awkward impasse that'd get them nowhere.

"You wouldn't happen to be… nervous about tomorrow, would you?" she asked.

"Wha—nah… no? Uh-uhm, of course not!"

"Steven, you were," she mimed the action as she described it, "doing the finger gun thing again."

Steven blushed as he tried to deny it. "Oh, come on, I don't only do that when I'm nervous."

"Maybe not," she smirked, "but you mostly do it then."

"Bu—" He closed his mouth without even finishing the word. He'd started doing the finger gun thing probably even before he'd been told about it—Pearl had caught him doing it when she watched him sleep way back when. It hadn't seemed to correlate with stressful events all those years ago, but things had changed sometime after… Homeworld. Of course it would've, he'd been stranded days without food and water and witnessed a death—that could have turned any innocuous tic of his into something borne of worry. He sighed.

"…Fine, I _am_ nervous." He paused. "…You're nervous, too, right?" He'd be loath to think he was the only one and that she'd only spoken up because she'd been rudely awakened by a couple not-so-well-placed pokes!

"Of course I'm nervous." She wrapped her arms around herself. "What if they think what I have to say is stupid? What if this doesn't work?"

Steven rubbed her back. "Hey, I'm sure it'll… probably work? You put a lot of thought and research into what you came up with, right?" She nodded. "And these people don't seem like complete monsters! And… um… if they are, that's why you brought me along!"

A thin smile spread across her lips. "I asked you to come as moral support and a wise voice in the discussions, not just to fuse into Stevonnie!"

"Yeah, but it'd be fun, wouldn't it?" he goaded.

"…Not for the reasons we'd be doing it for if it came up tomorrow." She bit her lip.

He thought that over for a moment, looking down at the bedspread. He felt like he needed to say something to lighten the mood, but he couldn't think of a single thing.

"So… why are _you_ nervous?" Connie smoothed the section of comforter underneath her hands, breaking up the monotony before Steven's eyes.

"Ah, this is gonna sound silly… but I felt like I wasn't gonna be much help to you."

An incredulous tone saturated Connie's next sentence. "Excuse me? Steven Quartz Universe didn't think he'd be a help to me? You—in a way—helped me get elected. You helped me by agreeing to marry me. You helped me by becoming my friend 25 years ago. Even if you were completely useless tomorrow—which you won't be, I'm sure of it—you've helped me more than enough over the years to make up for it." She placed a light kiss on his cheek.

Steven smiled, almost tearing up at such lovely remarks. He sniffed sharply in an almost-laugh.

"Geez, you really know how to _lion_ a mood," he said, giving some decidedly-not-nervous finger guns.

That forced Connie into a laughing fit. "Lion's not even here, you goof!"

Steven gave nothing but a guffaw in response, a sound that only intensified as Connie tried and failed to come up with her own finger-gun-worthy pun.

A sudden knock at the door brought them back to silence, even more so as they remembered the time. Their shoulders tensed slightly as they looked to each other, sure they would be on the receiving end of a hushed tirade from a haggard night manager about "don't you realize people have to sleep!?"

Cautiously, Connie rose from the bed and peered through the peephole on the door before opening it to reveal a familiar gangly man and his husband.

"…Hey, are you guys nervous about tomorrow?"

* * *

The people I chatted with to arrive at "Steven does finger guns in his sleep" are probably the best thing that ever happened to me.


End file.
